


It's been a long day without you, my friend.

by fineandwittie



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Old Age, all the death, everyone dies, graveyards, so much sad, song inspired fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4840049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineandwittie/pseuds/fineandwittie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin. Telling you any more than the tags say would spoil things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's been a long day without you, my friend.

There was a soft breeze curling through the graveyard when Napoleon finally managed to drag himself out of the car. His joints ached fiercely. There was a storm on the horizon, even if it wasn’t yet visible to the eye. He pulled the cane from the front seat and leaned on it heavy as he walked to the rows in to the only grave of any importance in the yard. For Napoleon? In the entire goddamn country. 

He reached up a hand, shaking with age and fatigue. “I’m sorry it took me so long to visit. I can’t believe they buried you here. This place is terrible, though you’d probably like it. Lots of trees. Very rural. Very communist still, even if the Iron Curtain lifted decades ago.”

Napoleon laughed, a dry, thin sound. “I heard a song on the radio recently. Made me think of you. I knew that I had to come see you, one last time. Because It has been a long day without you, my love. And we’ve come so far from where we began, but I will be seeing you soon. Very, very soon. And I’ll tell you all about it, when I see you again.”

Taking a rattling breath that barely filled his chest, Napoleon sat on the grass in front of the grave. For once in his very long life, he didn’t care about his suit. He leaned forward and placed a hand at the engraved name. “Illya, my god. I miss you so much. It’s been like an open wound in my chest these long years. I still don’t understand why you had to leave me. I told you not to take that last mission. I begged you. And look where it got us? There hasn’t been anyone else. There was only ever you, Peril. Only ever you. But after you…after you took a bullet to the brain for no reason, I married Gaby. She…well, she was there. She understood and she thought you’d approve. It put everyone off their suspicions anyway. But she’s gone now too, just a few months ago. Lung cancer. From all those fumes she breathed, working under cars, they told me. Imagine our little Gaby, fading away because he body betrayed her. I always figured that we’d all die in the field. I thought I would go first, but I’m the only one left. Everything’s different now. And everything is the same. Our…what we had, it’s legal now. I’d be able to marry you, back home. Not here though. Never here. You’d hate Russia now. I hate Russia now. I hate America too. I gave them everything, gave UNCLE everything, and what has it got me? Nothing at all. The world is still trying to kill itself. I think I finally understand the appeal. God, Illyushka, I miss you.”

He stopped talking for a moment, rubbing at the dryness in his eyes. He turned and leaned against the grave, remembering the warm strength of Illya’s arms. 

“I’m dying too, Peril. The Cowboy is finally giving up the reins. If not for Gaby, I’d have done it a long time ago. Walked in front of a bullet, eaten my gun, left the parachute behind on a jump. Something. But Gaby wouldn’t let me. Said she needed me. Well, I need you, Illya. And you’re not here anymore. And I still hate you a little bit for that. I hate you, because I love you so much and you left me behind. I thought we were supposed to be in it together.”

He reached up to rub at the old pain, his chest felt tight and hollowed out. Like Illya had taken everything that had been inside Napoleon with him when he died. He tried to take a deep breath, but it just wouldn’t come. He was so tired and he missed Illya so much. He’d just close his eyes for a moment, just to rest, and then he’d tell Illya all about the progress that they’d made. The good that UNCLE had done to the last. All the shiny new technology that America was at the forefront of, far outstripping Russia finally.

He closed his eyes and let his head drop to his chest. He’d just rest for a moment.

Napoleon wasn’t sure when he’d nodded off or how long he’d been sleeping, but he woke, startled, to a hand on his shoulder. He blinked himself awake and looked up.

Illya was standing over him, smiling and holding out a hand. “Well, Cowboy. It’s taken you long enough. I have been waiting ages. It’s time for our next adventure now.”

Napoleon stared for a moment before taking the outstretched hand. His own hand, which should have been gnarled and and wrinkled with age and arthritis, was smooth, elegant again. The signet ring he’d lost in an explosion in ’83 was on his left hand. He glances up and a curl of dark hair was hanging in front of his eyes. He’d gone white the night Illya had died. His hair has been white for the past three decades.

He blinked at Illya, stepped forward, and stopped himself from looking back to where he’d been sitting. Illya was right. It had taken him long enough. He smiled and pulled Illya into a kiss. “I love you, Peril.”

Illya laughed. “I know you do. I love you too, Cowboy. Come on. We can’t keep Gaby and Waverly waiting.”

Napoleon grinned, nodding, and took Illya’s hand again. It had been such a long day.


End file.
